


find your own path to heaven

by akamine_chan



Series: catharsis [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Band Break Up, Band Family, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet in the city, and Frank can't help but breathe a sigh of relief.  He couldn't have handled going out to California.  Not for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	find your own path to heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Ande and Luce, title from Frank's blog post of 3/11/13
> 
> In my heart, I needed to acknowledge that Frank might be doubly upset because not only was his band ending, but his favorite band in the world was breaking up.
> 
> Much thanks to RubyTuesday5681and Lucifuge5 for talking me through this. 
> 
> This is for all of us, in our grief.

They meet in the city, and Frank can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He couldn't have handled going out to California. Not for this.

When Frank gets to the conference room, Gerard's already there, cradling a Starbucks cup and staring distantly out the window. It's a beautiful tableau, artful and melancholy and Frank doesn't have a fucking doubt that Gerard did it on purpose. Pretentious fucker.

"So, we're really gonna do this?" The words come of angrier than he means them to. But fuck it, he _is_ angry. Furious.

Gerard winces, and Frank's glad to see that tiny crack in his calm. This is killing him, and he _needs_ to know that he's not the only one fucking bleeding on the inside.

Ray had called him, talking about new beginnings and breathing room and taking the time to enjoy life. Mikey had called and said almost the exact same thing. Frank had wondered if Gerard had written a script for them to read.

"Frank—" Gerard finally says, voice soft. "Frankie—"

Frank closes his eyes at the resignation in Gerard's voice, like Frank's being a stubborn kid who just won't listen to reason. He's listened; Gerard's not saying anything he's ever wanted to hear.

He sits at the conference table, staring at the small stack of legal documents. He doesn't want to do this, he isn't ready for everything to end. This band, these people are his life, his family, and Frank doesn't let go easily of the things that are important to him. 

Gerard's watching him; he can feel the weight of his eyes. He inhales, slow and measured. "Are you _sure_ , Gerard?" He looks up, into Gerard's stupid, earnest face, the face that made him believe in this whole crazy idea to begin with.

For a moment, Gerard seems to waver, the certainty that had gripped him for months washing away. Then he swallows hard, and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure, Frankie. It's what we need to do." 

Frank shrugs. He's cold; it's icy in this sterile conference room and he's not sure how much more he can take without exploding into a rage, upending the table, throwing chairs, anything to make Gerard react, to break through this glassy sense of unreality.

For years, he'd thought that Pencey breaking apart would be the hardest thing he'd have to endure. He'd had no idea.

He flips through the documents, scanning them quickly. If nothing else, he trusts that that paperwork is in order. There's no way it isn't. Too many years of being in the music business has made them all savvy in the legal language of contracts.

At the bottom of the very last page Mikey had scrawled his signature. To the right was Ray's, both so different from the flashy signatures they used for autographs. Gerard's signature is the same, as ever. The only thing missing is the _xo_.

He looks at the paper blindly, trying to make himself pick up the pen and sign the damn thing, so he can get the fuck out of here, go back to his hotel room and drink himself into oblivion, to numb the pain that had been eating away at him for months now.

"Frankie." Gerard touches his shoulder, and Frank can't help flinching away. "I'm sorry, so sorry, but it's what needs to be done. We've fucking tried, and we've had a good run. It's time to let go."

Gerard's eyes are shiny, and he tries to smile.

"What ever happened to never giving up?" 

"Frank—"

"No, seriously, Gee. What happened to this band being a life sentence?" The bitterness starts to seep out, burning like acid. His heart is pounding, and his chest is so tight, like when he's sick and it feels like there are iron bands wrapped around him, slowly strangling him.

"Frankie, please don't be mad at me—" Gerard's voice breaks and Frank can't stand it. He picks up the pen and scrawls his signature on the line marked with a little _sign here_ flag. 

And with that, it's done. The band is over, and Frank feels some part of himself shatter into pieces. He thinks it might be his heart, but maybe it's his soul. He stands up, because he can't stay here, can't even look at Gerard, because right now he hates Gerard for giving him everything he had wanted out of life, and now he's taking it away.

He stumbles blindly to the door, and Gerard doesn't say anything, because maybe there's nothing left to say. 

"I love you, Frank."

He doesn't look at Gerard, because it would be too easy to forgive him. His hand tightens on the metal of the door knob. He has no words for what he's feeling, the confused muddle of anger and frustration and in the end, it seems better to say nothing at all.

The door shuts silently behind him and he doesn't remember the ride back to the hotel; he's deafened by the white noise roaring in this head. He directs the cabbie to drop him off at a liquor store a few blocks from his hotel and he buys himself a cheap bottle of whiskey, because he's got just this one night. 

Tomorrow, it's back to Jersey and Jamia and his brood of kids and he's not taking any of the poison that's surging through his blood home with him. 

He slides the keycard into the door and turns the handle, pushing the door open. "What the fuck?" Jamia's sitting on the bed, looking at him with _that_ expression on her face, the one that says she understands exactly what's going through his head. "Why are you here? Where the hell are the kids?"

"I got my mom to take them for the night," she answers calmly. She nods at the bottle of alcohol in his hand. "Pour us a drink, Frankie."

Frank doesn't say a word, just finds two glasses and pours a generous splash of whiskey in both. "It's over," he says, tossing back his drink and setting down his glass.

"I know," she says, taking a careful sip. "C'mere, Frankie. It's going to be okay."

"It's _not_ okay, J. It's never going to be okay again." It's embarrassing how close he is to the edge, hands trembling, vision blurring with tears that he refuses to shed. 

"Frankie, come here." Her voice is gentle and he can't resist, could never resist her, falling to his knees in front of her, burying his face in her lap as she runs her fingers through his hair.

"Oh, Frank," she says, and he lets himself break apart, safe with her.

-fin-


End file.
